Breakeven
by Alexithymian
Summary: He'd always known it had to end. If it was on his terms, before the love he felt for her was destroyed, it would give them both space to heal, right? He'd talk to her about it. Maybe tomorrow.


Tomorrow would be the day. He slept badly, as was only expected, his tossing and turning under the bed covers such a familiar impediment to their sleep, just another metaphorical wrinkle in their already rocky relationship.

Justice had won. Justice had always won, eventually, a spirit with no need to sleep, or rest was a constant wave wearing down that part of himself he had sectioned off for her. And it had crumbled, these thoughts of 'I can't live without her' and 'she keeps me human' were nothing against the knowledge that he was being _utterly selfish_.

And Justice made sense. Hawke was young still at 25, Anders was pushing it at 33, possessed by a Fade spirit and tainted with the blood of a lost life. He was poison to her sweetness, a drag to her prominence, the disclaimer to her promises. He was sick of her making excuses for him, sick of watching her eyes droop and head nod when she waited patiently for him to finish writing and turn in for the night.

_She needs a life without you, mage. _Justice's whisper floats through that shared mass of drive and intention, and he is almost petulant in his lack of reaction. He gets it, it has to end, the fairytale and the sunshine is over. Her mischievous smile and the firm squeeze of his hand before a battle would haunt many a dream in the future, but he was willing - he _could_ - give it up for her so her life would not be further tainted. He would not be the cause.

This hadn't just been an errant thought. He'd planned it all out, from that awkward smile that lifted a single corner of his lips to the lowered eyes, the same earnest tone he'd tune his voice to soothe terrified parents before the healing of their injured children. He'd allow himself the pleasure of running his fingers through her hair- soft as the fur behind a kitten's ear.

Because, how could a love possibly be healthy, growing from behind three years of self-denial and drastic, serious warnings. It was an obsession, a distraction that constantly strove to warp his desires in life, an unhealthiness that blinded his eyes to other injustices - it was downright _dangerous _for Hawke to be so important to him.

He refused to have Hawke in the Mages Underground Collective. He used to have placed his pillow atop their coverlet when he was out for a night or overnight mission. Every single time he'd been away he'd come back home to find a wild-eyed, disheveled girl carting the damned pillow around as if it were a artifact that could guarantee his safe return.

He'd stopped doing that the day he found her crying into it.

Anders lies there, in their bed, guilty as a thief as Hawke slumbers like a babe next to him. They are entangled in each other as always, and even though he knows come morning her world- and his - will be forever upended, he cannot bring himself to extricate himself from her soft embrace.

_Just one more night,_ he thinks, not knowing if he is seeking to reassure himself or Justice, but his heart clenches worse than the day she came barraging into his clinic, demanding Grey Warden maps and swinging her long white hair around. Because he doesn't know how she will react, it's not unlikely that she will cut him out of her life - he'll never watch her laugh at his asinine comments, he'll never feel her touch, he'll never hear the sweet music of her voice as she calls to patients, he'll never see her coo over the paws of week-old kittens.

But she will manage. Hawke is beautiful, like a figure from the books he'd drown himself in, in the prison of The Circle. Strong, situationally fierce, proud and burning with righteous indignation, she could be a force to sweep Thedas beneath her grip, she was built from the same mould as the peasant-turned-Empresses of Arcadias and Umbiennes. Novels had chronicled the beauty of many a heroine, but they did not draw from a source that had shredded Anders' dignity, nor a source that sneezed from upending pepper, nor the lazy, companionable smile after a particular lascivious night of lovemaking. She is what many men founnd attractive, and who many others strove fruitlessly in their lives to find.

The very thought of another man occupying these sheets, and his place, makes him choke. Hawke is a part of him that he struggles to function without- without her, he feels like he is stranded within a nightmare, a life that is no longer his to will and control, and the knowledge that he will have to remember how to breathe without her is terrifying.

The spirit within him hums and shifts, a gentle reminder that he is not alone, no, he is never alone anymore, he is never adrift in this chaotic excuse of a life.

_Sleep, Anders. Fretting will only add to your pain. _

Anders sleeps, face buried in the sweet warmth of Hawke's arms.

-x-

"Anders."

His name is being spoken, but he doesn't move, immobile against the soft sway of long grass. He is in a field, of the like he's never seen before, and the sunlight is golden against the environment, warm against the lightness of his tunic.

"Anders?"

He cannot turn away when his face is being enveloped in the soft touch of two small, familiar hands. He cannot say that he is surprised either, that the eyes that meet his are the light grey of his lover, nor does he hide his pleasure from the strokes that feather his jawline in response to him kissing her fingertips.

He barely dreams, nowadays. It makes sense that Hawke, always such a strong presence in his mind breaks through the barrier of his concious and unconcious. Even asleep, he cannot run from the influence she has upon him. The pounding reminder of what he is about to do with her is like a nail within his heel, and more out of sheer frustration and helplessness in his inability to escape from his guilt does he turn, and pin her down amidst this strange wave of wildflowers.

"But this is strange, Anders, why are you in my dream?" Her brow furrows, and her lips pout in a very promising way. Her eyes are started to become lidded, and he doesn't care, this is not even real, he may as well partake in the love he hasn't yet forsaken.

He closes his eyes when he feels her body shift beneath his own, and he prays that the tears behind his eyes don't betray him when he captures her lips in a desperate vow of devotion.

-x-

**A/N: **I set myself the rather strange task of combining epic angst and fluff in one piece. What do you think? I'm trying for a multi-part series, something I've not done before.

Some points: Anders knows he cannot be touched by demons in the Fade, right? he may not even be able to exist in the Fade. For the sake of this fic, let's just say he /is/ in the Fade, and his constant thoughts of Hawke let him Justice-powers and snuck him into her dreams.

I've also never written anything steamy before. So I'm a little unsure of what to do for the next part.


End file.
